My back become one with the driver’s seat
and I knew they weren’t totally unhappy.
So many rosaries shook in the wind
while my coworkers’ faces poked inward, lips apart.
The boys next door were bleating
syllables melded as the spine to their books’ advice.
Looking past the twine on their wrists,
I noticed the cracks on our soft black couch.
The hairdresser warned whilst donating
that she’d also bring curtains if we were bad.
Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one,
we wrote on Hershey Bar postcards everything we would say.
Reconciling years of dressing our best
with some human emergencies not so designed and acknowledged.